


Miseria Amatorum

by HandsOfGold



Series: Amor Antiquus [2]
Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsOfGold/pseuds/HandsOfGold
Summary: Sequel to Terra Cruentus.Following Matthew and Roel being torn apart the Greywolf brothers embark on a journey to find Falk and stitch up Matthew's soul.





	1. Fuga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/gifts).

"Matthew, please," Charles begged, pulling on his brother's arm tirelessly. But Matthew would not move away from his lover's dead body, nor turn his glance away from Roel. He was weeping bitter tears of sorrow and the sobs that were shaking his body would not calm down.

"I can't leave him," he whispered over and over again, "I can't leave him. He wouldn't have left me either, he didn't leave me after finding out the worst of me. He would never have left me. I can't leave him. I can't leave him."

Charles shook his head sadly and in silence. The only sound in the air seemed to be Matthew's crying, however when Charles concentrated on the world outside with his sharp werewolf senses he could hear something else - something deeply unsettling.

There was a sniffing in the air, barely audible even for Charles because it was so distant. Then there was something alike to a deep groan or grunt, and the sniffing noise again. Accelerating steps became louder and louder. Then, Charles snapped.

"Matthew!" he bellowed, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and spinning him around to look at him. Charles looked directly into Matthew's eyes.

"Matthew, listen to me now. Listen!" He shook him again as Matthew's attention drifted off. Tears were in his eyes still.

"Whoever attacked you is coming for us. We have to leave or we will die!"

He hoped it had been a clear enough statement, but Matthew just stared at him blankly and unresponsively. Just as Charles was about to scream at him for real his lips moved again.

"What if I want to die?" he breathed from his bloodless lips.

"Matthew, that's bullshit and you know it damn well! Do you think Roel would have wanted you to die? You knoew damn well there is no afterlife where you can celebrate a reunion and live happily ever after. You will never see him again, and neither will you see me again if you give up now. Or... Falk."

By the mention of the name a spark came into Matthew's eyes, weak but clear, vanishing as quickly as it had come.

"Attila has him," he whispered.

"How are we supposed to get him free?"

"We'll find a way, but we won't if we die here!" Charles said energetically. But Matthew just shook his head.

"I can't leave his side," he said again.

"You can," Charles said simply and grabbed Matthew under his armpits to pull him up from the floor.

"No!" his brother screamed, breaking free with an unstoppable force. He sprinted the two steps back to Roel's side, kneeled down next to him and wrapped his arms around his lover. Tears were streaming down his face again as he kissed Roel's lips once more. But Charles had had enough.

He grabbed Matthew again and, with a strength only a werewolf could muster, threw him over his shoulder andragged his quietly sobbing brother away. Matthew's arms were still reaching for Roel, who was unreachable now, as they were at the door of the room, as they had left the castle and stood in the yard of the monastery building.

And that was when Charles noticed it was too late already.

From out of the bushes at their left they could hear a hiss that sounded like poison, and like a flash of darkness something shot out of the thicket, wrapping its icy hands around Charles' throat. Impulsively he let go of Matthew who dropped to the ground, letting out a cry as his head hit the gravel.

Charles tried to break free from the hard grasp but the one holding him was like a snake, always writhing out of his grip before he had tightened it. There was nothing he could do.

But then there was a cry, a half insane growl from behind.

"You stay away from my brother!" Matthew growled, and in this second his body started to change. Charles could hear bones crack and limbs shift as Matthew transformed into an auburn wolf out of sheer rage. The vampire attacking Charles couldn't even scream before Matthew's teeth had torn through his throat, ripping it open.

Of course that was not of much use against a vampire, so the wolf proceeded in pushing the confused, injured vampire to the ground and climbed on top of him. the vampire's ribs broke under the pressure of the heavy werewolf jumping onto them. This circumstance made it easier for Matthew to slice the vampire's chest open with his sharp claws and drown his snout in the wound. As he was in deep enough he opened his mouth and tore at the vampire's heart that had been empty of blood for years. Agonized screams could be heard through the ripped throat and as Matthew tore out the vampire's heart in pieces they increased to cease all of a sudden when the vampire's power was gone.

With an exhausted, weak howl Matthew rolled off the vampire and his body slowly went through the transformation again, until a human Matthew lay naked on the ground, as his clothes were torn apart. He was panting and could barely move from exhaustion and pain in his bones. One look from Charles was sufficient to make him understand his brother's gratefulness - and that he would care for him.

\---

Hours later, the sun had just risen, Charles had wrapped Matthew in a grey, woolen blanket and given him fresh clothes as well as some water. Matthew however was still shivering and they had been sitting in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

"Didn't know you had such temper," Charles said in a failed attempt to lighten the mood. Matthew just shrugged tiredly.

"He would've killed you," he said briskly.

Charles knew no answer.

"I wonder where Attila and Falk are now..." he wondered aloud.

As Matthew looked at him his eyes were as tired as his voice.

"I guess we'll never know," he said and sounded so hopeless that Charles' heart cracked.

"He said he loved you..." Charles began.

"And I loved him." Matthew sighed.

"But right now... right now I'm not sure if I can ever love somebody again..." His voice cracked and he buried his head in his hands, kneading his face and pulling on his messy hair.

"I know, Matthew, I know..." Charles said.

Matthew looked at him accusingly.

"How can you know?" he asked before his voice failed again.

Charles swallowed hard.

"There was a woman, you see? There was I woman I loved so, so much, and then... and then she died."

A shiver shook Charles' body and he had to breathe in deeply as he covered his hands.

"I still haven't loved again. But it doesn't mean that there is no hope for you."

"Oh Charles..." Matthew muttered, sliding closer to his brother.

"I'm so sorry... it just... hurts so much..."

"I know, Matthew, I know."


	2. Silvae

"Matthew, we have to get away."

Charles nudged his brother softly, who was barely awake anymore. He had wanted to let Matthew rest for a while, but he didn't seem to be able to find any sleep and was dozing on and off, every now and then startling from sleep to drift off again.

"We'll never find Attila and Falk this way," Charles urged. Upon those words Matthew could only shake his head tiredly.

"I don't know if I want to find them," he muttered while rubbing his eyes.

"I know Attila by now. He'll never give him free. He's going to kill him first. And I... I can't bear to see this... not again."

"But Matthew, we don't have a chance if we don't go. What is left here for us? I know you love Falk. Or maybe you loved him. And love is never to be given up. And besides, we're much too unsafe here. I don't want any more fights."

"How can you know whether there are going to be more fights?"

"These vampires must have had a clan," Charles explained.

"And if this clan finds us..."

When Matthew looked at his brother his eyes were made of shattered glass.

"Where are we supposed to go?" he whispered.

"They'll find us anywhere."

"Not if we run fast enough."

\---

The inn was shady and looked quite old, as if the people it had belonged to had not had the money to renovate it for a long time. Deserted in the woods as it was, this was not of interest for anyone whatsoever. And of course the owners of the suspicious looking inn had not survived their encounter with the vampire leader who had to use their home for his purposes now.

"How could you?" Falk asked for the hundredth time, his head buried in his hands.

"We might as well just have paid for a room!"

"I hope you are aware that the fact I have claimed you is the only reason why you are still alive after all this talking," Attila said darkly, standing in front of the window with an old fashioned lantern in his hand. Apparently a house this secluded didn't even have electricity, but then again, the monastery hadn't had that either.

Falk decided to stay silent for now. It was close to dawn and Attila still hadn't found a way to protect them from the light. It was obvious that the two of them would eventually have to retreat to the cellar of the inn, amidst potato sacks and barrels of wine.

All that he wished was to return to his old life. Of course that was impossible, so at this point he wished that whatever had hunted him that fateful night had torn him into pieces. He wished to have died as Christian Jost, never become Falk Maria Schlegel, never met Attila, never seen Benjamin again. He just wished for the sweet relief of death. But this would not be granted to him.

All that Falk could this about was his beloved. Lips on lips, skin on skin, the taste of vodka and the smell of vinegar. Coffee and cigarettes. Gentle sex that always turned out rough as Ben had begged for it. His calloused hands on Falk's back. But he was Matthew now, and Matthew belonged to Roel, the strong vampire who loved him better than Falk ever could. 

There was no use in denying it, Falk would be better off dead than in the woods somewhere with an oppressive vampire leader who somehow held claim over him and would never set him free.

\---

Charles looked back at Matthew, resisting the urge to grab his hand to both pull and hold him. His little brother looked so lost that it tore Charles' soul apart. It was understandable - everything that he'd ever lived for was gone now, one as unreachable as the other. Charles knew as well as Matthew that Attila would never let Falk go. But he had to get Matthew away from the monastery, away from what reminded him of Roel even more than he was thinking about him anyways.

Suddenly, Matthew stopped in his tracks and looked at Charles with his dull eyes.

"Why don't we change?" he asked hopefully.

Charles knew roughly a thousand arguments against that, led by the excruciating pain a transformation meant, but as his brother stared at him softly pleading he couldn't help but shrug.

"You know how much willpower it requires," he warned him simply. But Matthew's eyes told him that he would do anything to enhance his senses and find Falk. Despite not knowing whether finding Falk again would make him feel anything good.

Thus, Charles closed his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded.

He began visualizing his strong limbs, covered in thick, brown fur. Began visualizing the new structure of his bones, the way he would howl with his brother. Every tendon, every muscle, every limb would be different. It had taken him long to get to know his wolf form sufficiently to transform without the help of moon or rage, but as soon as the first bone cracked he knew that his visualization had been enough.

The moment his nose was pushed forward to form a sharp snout was the moment the bones in his legs shortened, breaking and reforming themselves. Charles let out a half howl, half cry of pain and at the edge of his pain noted that Matthew's situation wasn't much different. But his brother's cries faded in his own agony when his body crouched down and his ribcage reshaped itself, cracking apart.

By the time the transformation was done he laid on the ground panting, his pink wolf tongue sticking out. Matthew meanwhile looked much worse; almost indifferently his wolf form was curled up against a tree, breathing only barely.

Mentally, Charles cursed. He should have known that Matthew was too weak for a transformation! He walked over to his brother, nudging him with his snout. Matthew must have felt his hot breath against his neck, for he turned to him with eyes that had lost the wolfish fire and looked more like the ones of a broken human.

Upon noticing that his brother had awoken from his apathy, Charles took a nose full of air and looked at Matthew hopefully until he did the same thing. His eyes lightened up at the instant.

"I can smell him!" Matthew's thought was sent into Charles' head, sounding not quite excited but less dying than previously.

"The sun will rise soon," Charles sent back.

"They'll be trapped when it does. We have good chances of finding them then."


	3. Lux

"Charles, I'm-"

Matthew broke off his sentence and sighed deeply. He had ceased running, and had he been in human form he would have covered his eyes with his hands. Now he just stood there with his tail tucked in between his legs, looking miserable.

"I don't think I want to do this."

"Matthew, this is our only chance! We can't leave Falk with Attila!"

"But I don't understand any of this!" Matthew exclaimed mentally.

"Attila was always a strict leader but never like this!"

"You can never know when a man goes insane," Charles replied broodingly.

"And you can never know what desire does to somebody. All we know is that Attila has most likely gone insane from what must have seemed like a betrayal to him. And his temper is strong. Nobody knows what he might do if we don't stop him."

Matthew's snout twisted into a wolfish half-smile, his sharp teeth bare against the pink flesh.

"I can smell him close," he whispered.

"Then let the hunt begin."

\---

"You are aware that we can't get out of here if any of those crazy vampires who attacked us earlier come? Dawn will be here soon and we have the choice between being ripped apart and falling to dust in the sun."

Attila let out a kind of growl, wordlessly tossing him a holey blanket he'd undoubtedly dug out of the closet in the corner of the room, even though Falk hadn't seen him do so. He wondered why Attila hadn't killed him yet, for Falk's main occupation for the last half hour or so had been to provoke Attila, annoying the hell out of him. Maybe it was really a fucked up kind of bond that now existed between them.

Thankfully Attila hadn't tried to make any attempts to touch Falk, let alone do anything more. Another thing to wonder about. But why wonder about Atilla when he could think about Ben? Ben, Matthew - who even was he anymore?

At this point Falk wasn't sure of anything anymore, except for the fact that Matthew, no matter what Attila might think, would never come to get him. Roel was Matthew's safe haven, not Christian and especially not Falk. They had both changed. Matthew, even Ben didn't need a hurricane. He needed safety.

Was this his life now? Constantly fleeing from something that would never come? Eternally by the side of a man who sought to enslave him? Falk couldn't lie, being made Attila's companion had sparked something inside him, yet... that was before seeing Ben again. Matthew. He was Matthew now. And Falk could never change this.

The sun must have risen by now. Attila and Falk sat in the cellar room without saying a word when suddenly there was the creak of a door in the storey above them, followed by tapping footsteps. Falk's heart began beating heavier as Attila jumped up and cursed.

"Bastards!" he muttered under his breath, obviously considering what to do now. He did not come to a conclusion when the footsteps came closer and closer, came down the stairs and stood in front of the door where they stopped.

Then they could hear something crashing against the door. Again and again something heavy and large threw itself onto the wood, which would not withstand it for long. Splinters were breaking out of the door already. 

When the roughly fifteenth crash came, accompanied by constantly heavier breathing, the wood gave in. As large splinters crashed into the room where Attila and Falk were hidden, the vampire leader bared his teeth and jumped back to hold Falk with one hand, facing the grey and the auburn wolf that came storming into the room, howling loudly.

Falk had no chance to look at Matthew closer, for his eyes were hidden behind Charles' significantly taller and broader wolf figure. For a few seconds the vampire and the werewolves stood facing each other calmly, reveries of their joint times possibly flooding their heads. Then, all hell broke loose.

Charles was the first to advance towards Attila, trying to push him away from Falk. He did not succeed. Attila moved so quickly that Charles could not catch him with his paws, even though the sharp claws were driven out to impale Attila any given second.

Falk saw his chance to jump towards Matthew, but found he could not move. Something kept him tied to Attila, killing his free will. He could not walk away but followed the other vampire like a satellite. Panic overcame him, a panic that intensified when he looked into Matthew's eyes.

His former lover looked mentally bruised and broken. Something must have gone incredibly wrong with... Roel! Where was Roel? Falk's eyes searched the dark corridor, but even his improved eyesight could not spot the bald vampire anywhere.

Charles let out a loud howl into Matthew's direction to make him understand that he could not stand there frozen on the spot while his brother fought his battles. In this second, Falk could have sworn there were tears even in his wolfish eyes.

But those suspicions were wiped away the second Matthew, unexpectedly (at least looking at his dull appearance), charged at Attila. Even the vampire could not have foreseen this and so he swayed, almost falling to the ground had he not steadied himself against the back wall. But his aura of undefeatableness was broken.

The howls of the Greywolf brothers echoed far through the wide catacombs of the woodhouse's cellar as they jumped at Attila from both sides, crashing his back head against the wall and ultimately bringing him to fall. His parchment-like skin crackes open but there was no blood to stream out of the wound, so all that remained was a grotesque crack through which empty blood vessels were visible.

Attila sucked in a sharp breath that he could not hold as Charles stepped onto his chest, drawing the air out of his lungs by his wolfish heaviness. Carefully he put his claws upon Attila's chest and ripped open the skin with a quick, violent motion. Once again there was no blood, but Attila cried out as he realized that his pale heart was vulnerable now.

Just as Charles wanted to bury his claws in Attila's chest to rip out his heart, a pained scream drew his attention. It was Matthew, whose limbs were reshaping into human form, and it caused Falk almost physical pain to watch his beloved basically crack apart.

Matthew stood there, naked, as no clothes survived a double transformation, and with shivering voice he begged Charles to stop.

"Brother, please. There cannot be more deaths today."

All Charles gave in reply was an angry roar. He moved his claws, but Matthew grabbed the wolf's leg before it could to any damage to Attila.

"Please, don't, Charles. Has he not led us out of our misery for years? Have we not to be faithful to him?"

Charles growled again to make Matthew understand that he could not be stopped. And Falk did not want him to stop. He wanted to see Attila torn- no. He did want Charles to stop, he realized as he imagined Attila's heart ripped out.

"Let us return to our home. Please. Let us think all this over. We cannot destroy each other, for we are all that we have."

The tension in the air was tangible as Attila pressed out pained words from his suffocated lungs.

"I give in. Though I have claimed Falk and you will soon see what it means, Matthew is right. I was overtaken by anger. I vow to not attack any of you, if you just keep me alive."

"You didn't think werewolves could be so strong, did you?" Falk asked. Attila produced a wheeze.

"Nah, I didn't."


	4. Nox

In the dark cellar room, Falk and Matthew sat next to each other in deafening silence. Charles, throwing a meaningful glance at Attila, had left the room with the vampire leader to search another dark chamber to which they could retreat in order to not disturb the two of them.

But none dared to say a word. Until Falk broke the stillness with a heavy sigh.

"Why have you come? We can't be together, you've said it yourself. You belong to Roel now, and-"

He broke off as he noticed Matthew swallowing hard, struggling against a lump in his throat. Falk had seen him sinking often enough to notice when it started again and this, this was the time to beware. Falk clenched his fists.

"What happened? Did the bastard leave you?"

"Don't call him a bastard!" Matthew shouted all of a sudden, shooting a raging glance at Falk as he started from his seat. Now Falk could see that he was barely holding back tears.

"He's fucking dead, that's what he is! Dead because of me!"

With a desperate sob Matthew dropped to the ground against the wall. He covered his ears with his hands, eyes shut tightly, and his body was shaken by grief so that it seemed like an earthquake was affecting him. As Falk tried to put his hand onto his shoulder, Matthew pushed him away, the trembling intensifying to a point where Falk wasn't able to look at this misery anymore.

Just as he turned away he could hear how the house's front door was dragged over the stony floor. It electrified him instantly.

"There's somebody coming, Be- Matthew!" he hissed between tensely gritted teeth. But caught up in his own universe, Matthew couldn't hear a word Falk said.

Just as hours before he could hear steps now, coming down to the cellar, but it couldn't be Matthew and Charles or even Charles and Attila, as he had to realize, for in the next second there came a crash from the other room and a pained scream in Charles' voice echoed throughout the house.

Matthew's head went up like a puppet's upon a movement almost too harsh for its strings, and he stared at Falk.

In this moment, two things happened at once.

"Te blestem și degenerezi frate!" they could hear Attila scream in the adjacent room as the door to the room they were in burst open and revealed not Attila but three other man, their parchment-like skin doubtlessly identifying them as vampires of whom the first was at least as powerful as Attila himself.

Before Falk or Matthew could react, one of them pulled something from his belt. It was only the sound that made Falk realize it was a pistol, with which he mercilessly aimed at Matthew and - pulled the trigger.

Matthew twisted his body, dropping to the floor so that the bullet was shot into his arm instead of his chest. But the scream he let out, a scream of excruciating agony, made it certain to Falk that the vampire had shot him with a silver bullet.

This was enough to awake Falk from his rigid state. He threw his body - which was, frankly, not a very heavy force - against the old vampire and took him with him to the ground, the pistol dropping out of his hands not without having fired another shot that grazed Matthew's temple, instantly drawing blood.

While Falk was ringing with the first vampire, the other two's eyes turned glassy and, baring their teeth, they threw themselves upon Matthew, for the scent of his blood had attracted them. They were newborns, unable to control their thirst when the scent of blood reached their sharp noses.

Desperately Falk clung onto the vampire. His only chance was to bite him, for his only weapon were his sharp teeth and the poison in him. Thus, he made fruitless attempts to reach the vampire's neck, growing more and more frantic with every second that passed for the two remaining vampires were mercilessly sucking up Matthew's blood.

It wouldn't work, and Falk knew it, for the vampire knew exactly what Falk's plan was and his iron arms were doing everything to keep him away from his neck. However, desperate as he was, Falk seized the only opportunity he saw and rammed his teeth right into the vampire's left wrist, spitting poison into the bloodless wound.

Surprised, the vampire let go of him, and instantly weakened by the strange poison in his body he stayed away and crouched in the corner to die.

Falk's fight, however, was not yet over, for even though Matthew was successfully preventing the newborns from drawing so much blood that it was dangerous for him, the silver bullets' effects were showing more and more with every minute.

Adrenaline would now have coursed through his veins, had he still been human, so it was just vampiric anger that pushed him forwards. He grabbed one of the newborns by the shoulder, crushing him against the wall without much labour, then repeated the procedure with the second vampire.

To put the poison into their bodies he acted quickly, for even though they were disturbed they could not be kept away from fresh blood for too long. Still in his rage he managed, to then kneel down next to Matthew and inspect the wound. The battle noises in the adjacent room, having accompanied the entire fight, had ceased.

Falk closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he saw the wound. Despite the brevity of the time which had passed since the attack it had already assumed a colour between deep purple and black, the veins around showing like strikes of lightning. When Falk's hand accidentally wandered too close to the wound Matthew's eyes turned so Falk could see nothing but the white in them, he sucked in a sharp breath and held back a scream.

Falk was close to panicking. What could he do now? He had nothing to tend the wound, nothing to lessen the destructive power of the silver. The dead vampires around him seemed to laugh at him mockingly, he wanted to wrap his arms around Matthew but he couldn't touch the wounds, he was so powerless that he couldn't bear it.

Then, suddenly, before he could break down entirely, something nudged him from behind and he turned to look into the steel grey eyes of Charles' wolf form.

And that was when he realized that he was a vampire. And that super strength was one of his powers.

And so, after all, he wrapped his arms around Matthew to pick him up gently and carry him away from the carnage, away from the pain, to a place where they would care for him, a place that Charles seemed to know, for he ran forward and led the way into hope again.


	5. Separatio

They had feared for Matthew's life long enough. Falk was close to just crashing into the surgery room, demanding to know how good Matthew's chances of survival were, but he was just as well aware that he could not do this. At all. It had been enough of a disturbance to convince the medical staff that the bullet had been drenched in a rare but deadly poison that had to be removed immediately. As long as Matthew did not consent, the doctors would not be allowed to make any further investigations into the issue. And Matthew would not be stupid enough to consent.

Charles sat next to Falk, having fallen asleep in his chair. The transformation, the fight with Attila (which he had won, not without bloody wounds that had already been tended in the hospital) and the long way into the next city had tired him out. Falk was not tired, he needed no sleep but he too felt as worn out as he should not be able to as a vampire.

The lightness of Charles' sleep, alert as he was, was proven to Falk when one of the double doors into the corridor opened and a tired looking surgeon entered their field of vision, nodding towards them with an expression that gave away just about nothing.

"You belong to... Matthew Greywolf?" he had to search his mind for the name for a second, and bizarrely Falk had to smile a little. They had never thought they'd return to civilization - of course their chosen names were ridiculous. However, when he realized their grave situation he looked at the surgeon anxiously.

"Can we see him?" he asked.

The surgeon nodded, and both Charles and Falk let out a sigh of relief.

"He is awake," the surgeon continued, "and surprisingly well. We have not yet found out what poisoned him, but-"

"As long as he lives it does not matter," Charles interrupted him and Falk nodded in agreement.

When they entered the bare, white hospital room Matthew lay in the bed that seemed way too huge for him, his eyes directed at the window, staring out of it with an empty gaze. He did not turn when Charles and Falk entered, nor did he show any reaction until directly addressed.

"Matthew?" Charles asked carefully, and slowly the addressed's head turned towards his visitors. As he spotted them he did not smile. He seemed to have entered the fourth stage of grief without bargaining, and was sunken so deep into his pain that nothing could pull him out of it.

"Hey..." he whispered. At the end his voice cracked as he did not know what else to say.

Charles cleared his throat.

"Are you... okay?"

Matthew smiled sadly, making him understand that he was everything but okay. Charles bit his upper lip and remained silent as Falk stepped closed towards Matthew's bed, pulling the chair that stood, kind of lost, next to the window to the bedside. He sat down on it and looked Matthew straight in the eye without saying a single word.

"Matthew please," he begged.

"Talk to me."

But the only sound to be heard was the sound of the door as Charles left the room to leave the two of them alone.

Falk slid his hand underneath the covers to find Matthew's. The silver bullet had weakened, and was still weakening him, as one could notice by the temperature of his hand which was alike to Falk's own, having lost all the natural wolfish heat. As Falk took Matthew's hand between his Matthew remained indifferent.

"Matthew please," Falk repeated.

"You can't-"

"We have to get away from here," was the first thing Matthew said.

"What do you mean we have to get away from here?"

"Well maybe not you but me and Charles, at least. We don't have papers. We don't have insurance. We're basically illegal citizens and we can't just roam around in a hospital."

"Fine, we're leaving tonight but please, I'm begging you, please talk to me. Say something."

"What am I supposed to say?" Matthew said coldly.

"That my reason to live is gone? That the one to make me forget everything I have done is dead? Why should I say this, if you know it already? What is there that you wish me to tell you?"

"I want to know how we'll go on. I can't live seeing you like this."

"If you want to stay with me you'll have to get used to it," said Matthew and the pain in his eyes was so strong that Falk had to turn away from facing him because he could not bear another second of seeing Matthew like this.

"But let us face it," Matthew continued, "it is better if we don't stay togrther, isn't it? We'll never be the same again. We'll never be the hurricane again. I don't even think I can love you again."

Matthew's voice was broken. So this was it? Falk thought. This was what he had fought for, this was the reason Attila had died, the reason these innocent inn owners had died?

"Why did you come for me if you knew we couldn't have each other anymore?" Falk asked with a lump in his throat. This could not be the end. He refused to believe it.

"Because you are worth more than being a slave. You are worth living in freedom," Matthew answered.

"But if we stay together, you will be a slave again. A slave to my grief. And you'll never be free ever again."

"I am willing to accept that if it means I can stay with you," Falk whispered. His voice had assumed a pleading tone.

"No, you are not. Deep inside you know that. And I am not, either," Matthew said.

"This isn't... we aren't meant to be anymore. I want... I need you to understand this. And if you haven't understood it yet let me help you understand it."

Matthew struggled to sit up in the bed but pushed away Falk's hand that came to aid him. He looked at the vampire and tears were shimmering in his eyes.

"Falk... Chris... I want you to leave. I don't ever want to see you again, not in this life and not in the next. We aren't meant to be anymore. I destroyed that chance. We destroyed that chance. Years ago. The world destroyed that chance. There's nothing left for you here. Leave. Now."

Falk's body went ice cold. Needles stung his skin that was numb at the same time. So this was the purpose of it all? He was a newborn vampire on his own now? No, it didn't matter what he was, he thought, what mattered was that he was on his own now.

Falk couldn't look at Matthew anymore because he knew that the love and pain he would feel if he did would tear his heart apart. Numbly, he rose from his chair, stumbled out of the room without looking back once. The only thing he knew from the way back were his choked sobs, and those that echoed from the room, but of those he did not know whether they were illusion or reality.


	6. Perfectum

It had been five years.

Five years in which Falk had lived alone, made his peace with being a solitary vampire. Five years in which he had learned to feed on humans without killing them, learned to hide away in the shadows and not cause any trouble. The only trouble was within him.

When the memories got too much to blend out by hunting down humans or other activities he would go into the next bar and drown them. Tonight was a night like this. All that hovered in front of his inner eye was Ben's beautiful face when he had not been drunk, high, covered in blood or puffy-eyed and crying. Their kisses. their sex. How much they had needed each other, how they had clung onto each other to survive in the all swallowing hurricane that was their love. It was all in vain. Ben would not come back, and neither would Matthew. He was gone once and for all.

And that was the reason how he found himself in the next best shabby bars, downing so much alcohol that he had to wander away after ten minutes in each bar because the bartenders would give him no more. But he had learned that all his veins had to be filled with alcohol, six litres of the pure poison to show any effect at all. He'd drunk bottles of vodka alone, and the only reason why he went from bar to bar was that he didn't want to be alone when it hit.

In the seventh bar in Berlin Kreuzberg, his preferred quarter of the city he had retreated into for its anonymity, he felt it coming. Holding onto the counter behind which a concerned bartender looked at him queerly he shook his head, breathed in and barced himself for the world to come spinning around him. But the moment he tried to look up, verything revolved around one single face in the back of the bar, of a man who came swaying towards him.#

\---

Matthew was so wasted he could barely stand, let alone speak anymore. He didn't know whether he was drunk, high or both of it, or what even he had taken, it all was gone. The needle marks on his arms stung painfully and he felt so tired and sick that he thought he might faint any second. But he must not faint. He must stay in this condition until he died, or the grief would come crashing back, a wave to flood his entire being and drown him underwater.

A loud sound from the opposite end of the bar startled him, in his blurry vision he tried to make out the source of it and spotted another man he had not noticed entering the otherwise empty bar. The outline of his face and body was familiar, like an echo from along gone time, a life long past. Matthew didn't know who he was but some current pulled him towards him.

As he stared at the man from up close, recognition lit up his face but Matthew kept staring bluntly. The man opened his mouth and wanted to say something but the sound of his voice had faded before it could reach Matthew's ear. He put one hand against the man's shoulder, attracted by him like a magnet. In this second the edge of his vision started to go black, stars danced in front of his eyes, and then there was nothing more.

\---  
When Matthew opened his eyes he felt both reborn and terrible. He should have known that he could not run forever. Now it was over, and he was abducted by some crazy person living underneath an abandoned warehouse, as it seemed, and-

"Matthew."

The voice went through Matthew's bones and pierced his very soul. It sounded shaky, insecure and broken, but at the same time so happy and whole that it made Matthew's heart swell up. No, this could not be...

"Falk...?" he whispered, slowly turning around, and then he was suffocated by an ice cold body crashing against him, wrapping him into a bone crushing embrace. And the second he felt this embrace Matthew knew that this was what he had been running from. And what he had sought for in all those years of running.

After learning to deal with Roel's demise (it had taken three and a half years until Matthew had been able to pursue a relatively normal life) he had realized that his grief had not been forever. That Falk would not have been an eternal slave to it. That he had made the biggest mistake of his life by sending him away.

He had spent a year searching in every place where he could imagine Falk would be - in vain. Then he had ended up in Berlin. And everything had begun anew.

And now he was here, and tears welled up in his dead eyes, because Falk was there, and he did not hate him, and he had taken him away from all the agony that was his life to this safe place, and Matthew pulled out of the embrace and kissed Falk so tempestously that the hurricane of their old love almost came over them again. It would never be like before, Matthew realized in that moment. But what did that matter?

"What keeps us here?" Falk eventually murmured into Matthew's hair.

"Let us go home."


End file.
